Precipice

'Thank you.' said Paula quickly. 'I'm speaking from the Hotel des Bergues,' she warned him. 'From my bedroom. I had a call recently from our friend who smokes cigarettes but doesn't smoke. You know who I mean?'

'Yes.' Tweed was careful not to mention the name Archie.

'He's had information from a reliable source. It's odd. Just one word. A girl's name. Ariane…'

'I know who she is, what he is talking about.'

'Thank heavens. Philip is with me, trying to sleep on the couch in the living room. Neither of us can go to sleep. Too alert.'

'Are you all right? I know about the Old City. Beck has called me in a rage. Don't worry. How are you?'

'OK. Quite OK. So is Philip. Our competitors seem to know every move we make in advance.'

'They're well organized and have plenty of money at their disposal. It helps.'

He was listening carefully to every word she said, trying to detect any signs of strain and stress. There were none.

'Has a certain important man Newman met in Dorset a base in Berne?' Paula asked.

'Yes, he has. Why?'

'We'll be going there tomorrow.'

'In the Kochergasse.' Tweed said swiftly. 'You're both going? Good. I want you both to try and see me at the Schweizerhof late tomorrow afternoon. We've stayed there before. Remember?'

'I'm sure we can make that. We will. Hadn't you better get some sleep?'

'I could say the same to you. I have to take another call. Take great care…'

He nodded to Monica, who dialled the Professor's number, said Tweed was on the line.

'Tweed! So, like me, you're an owl.' Grogarty gave a hoarse chuckle. 'My best work is done in the early hours. You have another problem. Of course! Otherwise you wouldn't be getting in touch.'

Tweed had a wild whim to ask him whether his pince-nez was crooked, but desisted.

'Yes, I do have a problem. A very strange one.' He explained about the call from Paris without mentioning Lasalle's name, ending with the fact that a courier was flying in with the photos of the satellite which had been secretly substituted for the original one.

'Sounds intriguing.' Grogarty commented. 'And you want my opinion yesterday?'

'No.' said Tweed, 'the day before yesterday.'

'Then why don't you hold the courier, look at the photos yourself, then send them straight on to me by the same courier.'

'I'm going abroad early in the morning. Soon after daylight.'

'Then you'd better send that courier over here pretty damned quick. Another thing, Tweed, it would help me if I knew its orbit – the areas of the Earth it passes over.'

Tweed put down the phone and swore aloud mildly, which he rarely did.

'Won't he cooperate?' asked Monica.

'He'll pull out all stops for me. But he wants now to know its orbit – what parts of the planet it is crossing. There's a problem for you.'

'Easy.' Monica began dialling a number from memory. 'I have the answer, with a bit of luck. Cord Dillon, Deputy Director of the CIA, and your old pal. He works late, and in any case the headquarters at Langley is on Washington time, so they're five hours behind us…'

'What would I do without her?' Tweed asked Newman as he stood up.

'Collapse.' Newman snapped.

'I'm going to the loo. Maybe you'd like to come up in a minute and we'll look in on Reginald and all his junk. I have a key to that room.'

Tweed found the door to the communications centre, as it had been called, was open and Reginald was inside with his staff of two. Newman entered the spacious room with Tweed, followed by Marler.

'Do come in, Mr Tweed.' said Reginald, seated in front of the largest machine in the place.

'I am in.'

'What I meant was I'm delighted you are at long last taking an interest in our work, that you have been converted to modern techniques.'

'I haven't.'

The three visitors looked slowly round the room which had smaller computers and PCs on metal tables against the walls. Green screens were flashing madly, some even showing wording, line after line of it.

Reginald was in his twenties, lean and wearing pebble glasses, his face almost cadaverous. He gestured towards the big machine he was sitting in front of, his fingers poised over the keyboard.

'This is the master computer, which is why it's bigger although the trend now is for computers to be smaller and smaller. The master computer I'm sitting in front of is linked to the telephone system – as are the others. And our security is foolproof.'

'No, it isn't,' said Tweed. 'I asked my bank director recently could he guarantee no one could hack into my account. He looked embarrassed, then agreed that it could be done, that it had been done on a number of occasions. Do you normally work so late?'

'Well, no. But since Monty arrived we're all keen to complete the link-ups.'

'Monty?' queried Tweed.

That's what we call my master computer.'

'I'll leave you to get on with the good work…'

'Monty!' Tweed said with disgust as they went back down the stairs to his office. 'I wonder what those flashing lights will do to their eyes.'

As they went back into his office Monica was putting down the phone, looking pleased.

'Cord came up trumps. They're furious at Langley that Paris hasn't informed them they were launching a new satellite.'

'Paris?' queried Tweed. 'It's Brazil's satellite.'

'Obviously he has concealed his ownership by passing it along the line that it's a new French satellite. I suppose being on such good terms with the President in the Elysee he's got his support. Cord said they had heard about Ariane launching Rogue One and they've been tracking it.'

'Rogue One?'

'That's what Langley has christened it. Rather a good name, I thought.'

'A good name for Leopold Brazil.' said Marler.

***

'Mr Brazil has arrived back.' Jose told Eve. 'He wants to see you in his study.'

'I haven't had breakfast. I need my breakfast.'

'You've had sleep. Mr Brazil hasn't had any. When he does have sleep he only needs four hours. He has great energy, is a dynamic personality.'

'Shouldn't you wait until you're in his presence before you butter him up?' sneered Eve. 'Telling me isn't going to earn you any medals.'

The dark-skinned Jose's expression didn't change. It hardly ever changed. He told Eve Mr Brazil was waiting for her in his study.

She went downstairs to the first floor, didn't bother to knock on the study door, walked straight in. Igor, sitting alongside Brazil who was in his chair behind his desk, stood up, snarled.

'Igor prefers you to knock.' Brazil said mildly. 'He thinks it better manners.'

'Oh, I see.' Eve tossed her head. 'Would you like me to go out again, knock respectfully on your door, and wait for your command to come in?'

'Don't be impertinent. Sit down.'

Brazil was dressed in a smart heavy grey business suit with a regimental tie he had bought in Bond Street. He radiated an aura of power and purpose. On his desk was a fat envelope. He was amused to watch Eve trying not to look at it. He began talking again in his deep voice as soon as she sat down facing him.

'I am going to meet Tweed later today. I employ you because you have a flair for weighing up men, for